So on the seventh of October I got up, and made a packed lunch, and drove my husband to an airport, knowing — not suspecting, knowing — and I had already decided in the kitchen that I was going to follow him.
And my daughter
was in the back seat, because she comes with me, because that is the school run.
The other half.
She had tried before.
On the Monday the sixth — the morning after she heard it — she said something in the car on the way to school.
She said: “Daddy was on his other phone again.”
And I said: “Don’t be silly, love. Daddy’s only got one phone.”
I lied to my eight-year-old about a thing I had photographed in my own utility room eight days earlier, and I did it because I did not want her anywhere near it, and I was proud of myself for it at the time.
